


Nothing Here To Save

by shadowstake_us82



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Angst, Heartbreak, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 01:26:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17173217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowstake_us82/pseuds/shadowstake_us82
Summary: This one-shot takes place during the scene of the last episode of series 3 between Morgan Lamb and Emerson Kent when he has to apologise to her for believing she was involved in the murders. It’s what could have happened in the interview room leading to Emerson running out the door upset.





	Nothing Here To Save

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been suspicious of Morgan Lamb and believed her to be a darker character than she would have others discover. It wasn't just jealousy that made Emerson wary of her, but a more profound feeling which made him desperately protective of Joseph Chandler; he felt Joe's safety was compromised the more time he spent with her.
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters do not belong to me, I just put them in scenarios I wish us viewers could have had a chance to enjoy but were robbed of.

  
‘I wanted to apologise to you.’ Kent murmurs softly. He already feels terrible condemning in his mind the woman sitting in front of him. Maybe he is wrong after all.

‘Why?’

‘I shouldn’t have been so harsh on you in your interview. I shouldn’t have spied on you. Guess being the bad cop isn’t really me.’ He tries to offer a self-deprecating chuckle to soften the previous blows he had offloaded on her.

Morgan does not reply immediately, only considers Kent with the briefest of insincere smiles. ‘Perhaps it’s more you than you think,’ she states, eyeing the man in front of her more openly scathingly.

Her words slice through his chest with deadly precision. He can’t move, can barely blink. A deep horror chills his blood.

She knows just what to say. Morgan leans back in her chair but says nothing more for now. Only regards the Detective Constable with a coldness that seeps far beneath his skin. She knows she’s struck a nerve. She meant to.

'Poor Detective Constable Emerson Kent. So troubled and paranoid because of his job. So painfully, blatantly in love with his boss. So _pathetic_.’

Kent steels himself to gaze back into her cold eyes and swallows. 'You don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He is relieved his voice sounds confident, if slightly hushed.

An infuriatingly smug smile adorns her lips, emphasising the hardness in her eyes.

'I always know.’

Kent swallows again as discreetly as he knows how. He can’t have her see any more than she already has.

'So, what are you going to do about it?’ Her tone is forced casualness. She is fluffing her dark brown hair and pretending to sweep off something from the plastic suit she still has to wear until her clothes are returned from forensics. She looks back up into Kent’s eyes and smiles again as if they are old friends. 'You see, your boss … he doesn’t know. Hasn’t a clue.’ There is almost mirth in her voice.

Kent flexes his fist and feels a surge of hate suffocate his reply. It lodges deep in his chest and almost blinds him to all that is in the room with him. He takes a subtle breath and his vision clears again; the overwhelming sensation recedes slightly.

'Look, I’ve apologised. Again, I am sorry for any implication on my part that you were involved in the killings or the killer himself. I don’t know what else I can say.’ He shrugs and turns on his heel to exit.

'He doesn’t think that way about you, DC Kent. You really should know that he never will either’, she lets slip a huff of laughter, shaking her head slightly as if she regards the idea amusing in its absurdity.

Kent turns his head to glare at her. He knows she is aware of how to slash at him so effectively. She knows how to hack away at his heart, using Chandler as the weapon. Kent’s skin prickles sharply.

'Oh, because you’re exactly what he needs and wants, huh?’ Kent leans against the door jamb. 'You have spent barely two days with him. You don’t know him. You’ll never know him. I’ve been here, beside him, for over three years.’

Morgan grimaces. 'And yet, where has that got you exactly? Just another night in your lonely bed wishing, dreaming, fantasising. Like I said: pathetic.’

Kent takes a breath and another step back into the room. He steels himself to not show how successful she has been so far in targeting his vulnerability, his insecurity; it’s almost as if she has a second sight deep into his soul.

'Oh so tortured’, she murmurs with pleasure.

'What exactly is your problem?’ Kent challenges her, his chest tight with a fury he feels he can barely keep in check.

Morgan stands and takes several steps towards him, the same self-satisfied smile still fixed upon her lips, grating against Emerson’s flesh even more.

'It seems you have an idea. Maybe you can tell me.’ She leans towards Kent’s ear and whispers 'and you better make it good, as I’m sure _Joe_ will be interested to hear all about it.’

Hearing his name so easily slip from her lips as if she has any right to say it boils Kent’s blood and he no longer cares about holding back.

'I know what you are! I know what you’re trying to do! And I won’t let you, you hear me?!’ Kent leans into Morgan’s space and hisses 'I won’t let you hurt him. Not ever. You’ll have to go through me first and trust me, you don’t wanna do that.’

Instead of being shaken, or even being a little perturbed, the slowest smile creeps on to her face and she looks positively gleeful.

'Oh, Emerson - you don’t mind if I call you Emerson, do you? - I just cannot wait to tell Joe about this. In fact, before I next see him, maybe I should take a walk out to the desk and report to the sergeant there that you just threatened me. I must say, I really don’t feel safe with you. Maybe he can pass it on to Joe for me.’ Her smile chills the room.

Kent takes another long breath and clenches his jaw. 'Do what you want. Just know I’m keeping an eye on you. The boss won’t fall for your crap, he’s too smart for that. You won’t win here.’

'We’ll see.’

Kent turns and moves towards the door, his hand already on the handle.

'Except’, she calls, snatching back his attention again, 'I’d say I already have. You see, there’s something he hasn’t told you.’

Kent lets his hand drop from the door and watches her closely and she moves back towards the chair she had just vacated. She smooths down the plastic bottoms of the suit and regards the constable with a bored indifference designed to pack a punch.

'He’s coming home with me tonight’, she announces, all the while boring into Emerson’s eyes, waiting for his reaction.

'He... he wouldn’t do that. He would never compromise his position.’ Kent hears himself speaking the words so confidently and yet the frozen, heavy stone is still settling in his chest over where his heart speeds up painfully.

'Funny you mention positions. We’ll be in plenty of different ones tonight.’ She grins smugly as she takes in Kent’s sickly pallor and his uncomfortable swallow; she leans in to twist the knife for the last time. 'And he won’t be thinking of you at all. _He never does anyway.’_

Emerson Kent gasps in a breath as if struck by a cold hand. Against his will, his eyes sting with tears he cannot bear to shed in front of her triumphant smirk. He grabs the door handle again and launches himself pass the grief-stricken woman sitting on the bench by the door, clasping a sodden tissue. He does not see her, cannot feel anything but his own clawing pain, he does not even glance back when she slowly gets up and enters the interview room he just left. It is only when he is hurrying down the last flight of the stairs past the incident room and towards the main entrance that he hears the first scream.

Morgan Lamb lies bleeding and still on the floor. A hysterical and screaming middle-aged woman is held down by two officers and still clutching the same tissue; glass from the broken mirror scattered so innocuously by the body of the dead psychiatrist.

Kent knows he will never forget the look in his superior’s eyes, nor the way DI Chandler could barely keep himself standing as he stumbled down the darkening corridor alone. Now every time Emerson closes his eyes all he can see is his boss, his friend, his love losing the light a virtual stranger had given him in a mere couple of days of speaking to her; something Kent had so longed to do in the near four years of working beside him.

Every day now is a fresh heartache, a new loss, and more distance than Kent can ever calculate because he knows, knows that every time his Joe looks at him all he can see in his eyes is that it is Emerson’s fault, and her death a void Kent can never fill. With every passing minute, he feels the splintering of what was once a shimmering hope within his chest now lie broken; and it is as final as the office door Joe closes on him every time Joe turns away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I always appreciate it.


End file.
